Lost Ones
by Hearts A Mess
Summary: However they met, however they came together, the one constant is that it is always Wolverine and the Rogue.
1. The Dangerous Ward

_This is a collection of blips in time, mainly based around Logan and Marie meeting for the first time. As you can see, it takes a few different ways, and a few different tries for them to get it right. Enjoy._

* * *

He could leave if he wanted to. It wouldn't be so hard, to just get off the bed, grab his duffel, and snag the keys to that motorcycle that he had heard yesterday. Growling up the long driveway of the institute, its sound reminded him that he had a choice. To heal on his own time, without these goddamn do-gooders that thought they were helping him. But Logan wasn't that much into trusting himself at the moment.

He rolled over from his scenery of the ceiling and out towards the back forty of the mansion.

It was the third week since they had picked him up. Or so that minx of a doctor had told him. He was only awake for the last two weeks, and in the space of time between now and his waking moments, Logan felt like he could not wash his hands of the blood that was staining his memory.

He had thought about it too many times. Had sessions with that damn telepath as well. Time. That was all Xavier said would get him through this. Well Logan didn't want time. He wasn't sure what it was that he needed, but it sure as hell wasn't a telepath poking his memories, getting him to remember things he felt he'd be better left without.

One thing that Xavier hadn't outright told him was Logan's isolation in the mansion. First it was the medical bay. No visitors except the doctor who looked like she could be dangerous if she really let herself. Now this isolated room, on a nearly empty floor, on the far side of the mansion, Logan had to wonder when he would ever be ready to face the outside world. Only time seemed to tell in the 'dangerous ward' that they had put him in.

That's when he smelled it. He first thought that someone had gotten into his stash of cigars and was smoking out on the grass below his window. But this wasn't smoke, it was like the aroma that came from trees and pollen on the wind. It was earthy, warm, and almost honey-like. It immediately called to his senses.

Logan sat up and walked over to the doors that led to the room's spacious balcony. When he opened them, the cool breeze of the night air brought a blast of the scent. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

"Hello."

Snapping his head to the left, Logan saw on her leaning on the rails of her balcony, two rooms over. A pale face that gave him a sweet and unconcerned look. Logan blinked.

"I was wonderin' if anyone was stayin' there," she nodded to his room. "I coulda swore I smelled cigars a few times. Thought my nose was playin' tricks on me."

What did he say to that? He decided not to play the smartass role that he had done with the professor, his tongue becoming so used to the instant comments that came to mind. For once, Logan stopped himself. He breathed in her scent again and wished outright for something normal, unassuming. Without all the tension of his past. Something that would never be connected to the horror that once was his own.

The moon finally broke through the veil of clouds, and Logan could see in sharper detail the petite brunette that was now looking out on the back lawns of the mansion. She must have figured he wasn't in the mood for talking. She had a long grey sweater pulled around her, and bare feet that peeked out from black sweatpants.

Taking in her profile, he saw the odd streaks in her hair that framed her face. Dark eyes matched her hair, and softer features that offset the striking accents. Surprisingly, her voice matched her scent perfectly. He couldn't imagine it any other way.

"I'm Logan," he offered, and watched her reaction closely.

She cocked her head back to him, a small but tentative smile settling on her lips. "I'm Marie. Pleasure to meet you."

Stuck for want of conversation or just her scent, Logan turned to her fully, his thick arms crossing over his chest. "How long have you been here?"

Her expression immediately darkened. "One week," she said quietly.

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Look, if you'd rather not talk about it-"

"No, it's fine. It's just… I don't think _now_ of all times I need to be labeled as dangerous." She picked at the moss that clung to the balcony railing.

"Well if it's any comfort, ya don't look it."

Marie's gaze flicked back to him, a glimmer of warmth coming back. "I take it you're just like me. You've always been dangerous?"

"As much as I can figure," he answered cryptically. "Mind me askin' what you can do?"

For a moment Marie turned to him fully, as if studying him and weighing his question. Then without a word, she rose into the air, her feet curling under her as she held his gaze. Crossing the distance over the balconies, she landed gracefully in front of Logan. Her expression was dubious, as if she was regretting such a simple display.

For a moment he waited, then; "Is that it?"

"No," she said quietly. "But I think it's better for the both of us that I don't show you what else I can do."

Logan frowned but said nothing to contradict her. It was different now, having her so close. Her presence and scent wrapped him like a blanket. He realized he was unconsciously leaning into her.

"What's your mutation?"

"Nothin' special," he murmured.

Marie cocked her head; a simple gesture that told him she didn't buy any of it, yet still had the patience to put up with his antics. He studied the silver hairs that framed her face as he thought about what to tell her.

He could feel the metal in his body, the heavy weight that he didn't want associated with her in any kind. Still, something inside him said that nothing good would ever come of that kind of secret. But Logan was selfish.

"I heal from anything. But I've got a feral mutation," he replied, shifting in his stance. "Can make me unpredictable in… certain situations."

Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly, but she still nodded.

He didn't end up divulging anything more that night, and she never pressed. They occasionally crossed each other's night watch, as if they were the sentinels of the mansion, as if it was the only way they could justify their residence. The two most dangerous mutants never spoke of their abilities, and safe, mundane topics were all that ever passed between them.

After awhile, Logan was able to sleep. Marie's presence gave his mind a calm sanctuary that he was able to focus on, even if they were fitful dreams. But every so often, a true nightmare of his past would slip through, and unknown to him, Marie heard it.

At first, she tried to ignore it. Over the course of hours, the sounds coming from Logan's sleep were guttural and troubled. She decided the only thing that a true friend would do is to wake him up.

Pulling his balcony doors open, she stepped inside only to stop short.

Set in the darkest corner of his room, the Wolverine had crouched in waiting. The fog of nightmares had mixed with his feral instinct, and he only knew that the intruder wasn't his mate. Wasn't welcome.

"Logan?" she whispered tentatively, her hand unconsciously rising.

Marie was too surprised at his speed to defend herself as she felt her body being slammed back against the wall, her head connecting with the hardwood paneling. She heard a distinct splinter of the wood reacting to her skin's new mutation.

Stars popped in front of her eyes, and she struggled to focus on Logan. It wasn't hard; he was inches from her face, pupils dilated black. A low rumble came from his chest and vibrated to his fingers. Somewhere in the back of Marie's mind, she knew that breaking his hold wasn't the best idea.

She dropped her eyes and went with instinct, trying to relax her muscles. "Logan?" she murmured again.

If possible, his grip on her arms became even tighter, pushing closer to her until she felt his nose brushing the side of her neck. A tender spot between her jaw and the collar of her robe. Marie bit her lip, clamping down on the control of her skin until it made her dizzy. She didn't work so hard on her power to have it fail her now. Not on Logan.

She tried again; "Logan?"

There was a long moment where they were both still as statues, and only the night air moved around them. Quite suddenly, she felt her feet leave the floor as his hands smoothed out of their iron grip, wrapping around her completely. She marveled at the touch, the distinct change. She looked up.

"I'm sorry, M'rie," he murmured, one hand coming up to smooth back her hair. His eyes had returned to their normal hazel, and she smelled water and copper on his breath. He must have bit the inside of his cheek.

"Logan…" she said mindlessly, as if to remind herself he was finally, mentally present with her.

Marie felt herself sink into his arms, for once enjoying another person's touch. Too many times before she had touched others, but it was never quite like this. Never someone who wanted to hold her, while knowing the risks. There was never anyone who she was able to touch without regard for their own life. For once, as she settled her head in the crook of his neck, did she have faith in her control, and relish it.


	2. Complex Semiconductors

Tiling. A strange sort of metal tiling that went as far as the eye could see. Except for the fluorescence, and a sterile smell that told him that he was in a lab.

His stomach dropped. Instead of letting fear over take him, Logan released a stronger instinct; anger. His lips curled back and a low growl rose in pitch as he bolted upright, his hands seeking the wobbly sides of the gurney.

Claws came out. One. Two. Slit the intravenous lines. Three. Four.

His bare feet hit the ground and eyes swept over the corners of the lab. It was only when he pushed aside the curtain in his haste to find an exit, did Logan stop.

A girl, no more than twenty he figured, lay unconscious on a similar gurney. Long mahogany hair fell off the pillow and down the edges of the bed. Porcelain skin and petal lips that made him wonder if he was looking at some kid's fairytale story description. The stark white strands lining her face were the only thing that convinced him that she was real. Logan couldn't resist a second step to get a closer look.

The smell is what did it. That extra step and he could pick up the scent that carried on her shallow breath and wove through her hair. It was something smooth and strong, like oak and tannins in the bottom of wine. He never actually felt his eyes dilate before. It was hard not to move to her side when he heard the lab doors opening.

"Oh, you're awake."

Logan thought he had gone colorblind as he stared at the beast that had entered the lab, his shaggy blue fur spilling over onto the clipboard that he had clutched in one enormous hand. Wisely, he kept still as Logan sized him up.

"Who're you?"

"Dr. Hank McCoy, I run the lab here."

Logan kept his questions neutral with an underlying menace. "And where is here?"

"Westchester. More specifically, the basement labs of Xavier's Academy for the Gifted."

"Who's she?"

It was this question that bemused Hank. "That's Rogue. She was admitted the same time as you." The beast scanned Logan again. "I take it you don't remember."

Remember? Christ, his fucking memory again. His forearms prickled and he decided that he didn't like this dungeon that passed for a lab/uppity prep school.

"Do me a favor and point out the exit," Logan barked.

"Logan."

But it wasn't Hank that spoke. Logan narrowed his eyes, confused as he followed the sound. Turning, he saw that Rogue was awake and slowly propping herself up on the gurney, her mahogany hair falling back. She blinked owlishly, unused to the bright light of the labs as she tried to focus on him.

"Logan?"

There were few people in his life that he considered to know well. He could usually make out the nuances of their speech; the things that were left unsaid. This girl apparently was no exception. He even surprised himself by the gentle murmur that came from his lips, "Don't worry, we're getting out of here."

Hank finally stepped forward. "That's not necessary-"

He whipped his head about, his claws making another appearance. "Stand aside, bub. I take it you don't heal like I do."

"Logan," again said the voice. It was a strange pull that tugged on him, taking his eyes off of his adversary and back towards the petite woman who seemed to plead for his presence. His claws slowly sunk back in.

"I'm right here, darlin'." In the same moment, Logan reached out and took her extended hand, watching as a fascinated Hank started scribbling furiously on his clipboard.

"Darlin?" she questioned with a lazy smile. "No more 'Kid'?" Rogue threaded her fingers through his.

Logan looked over her lax features, wondering why he couldn't smell the drugs in her system. "What've you done to her?"

But Hank ignored the question. "Rogue, if it's alright with you, I need to take a blood sample now."

Rogue waved her free hand lazily, smiling at the doctor. "Sure thing, doc."

He was getting tired of this blue furball constantly intervening. "The hell you are. Back off."

A slender hand waved off the words that hung in the air. "Logan really, ish okay, I'm just a little wonky. Something happened on the mission is all. Right, Hank?"

But Logan cut over any reply that the doctor might have intended. "You smell fine. You look fine. You don't need a doctor Rogue, now can you sit up?"

"Since when do you call me Rogue?" It was a simple enough question, but the comical pout that was on her lips distracted Logan from thinking it over further. Her glassy eyes focused on him again, looking over his profile.

"McCoy said that was your name."

Her brow furrowed and she seemed hurt by this. Yet she didn't pull away, didn't avoid his gaze.

"I'm not goin' anywhere, Wolverine," she said with a hint of a southern drawl and more sass than he cared to take from such a petite woman. "An' if the good doctor says he wants a blood sample, then he gets one. He's taken good care of me since Le Beau."

None of it made sense. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You were on a mission to assist the first wave of X-Men," said Hank, who stepped forward finally had an opening to explain. "They encountered some mutant vigilantes. Rogue's team sent a transmission that her mutation was affected by another mutant. Your team was able to extract her, but it seems you had some nerve damage after dealing with a one, Remy Le Beau."

"Nerve damage?" he looked at Hank like he had gone mental. "Fuck," Logan muttered, passing a hand over his face. Rogue looked on, sympathetically nodding.

McCoy only added grimly, "Mr. Summers said he had, and I quote; 'Never seen a human superconductor before.'"

_Asswipe_, thought Logan after he heard the cheeky comment from this punk named Summers.

"I suspect this is only temporary, Mr. Logan. You should regain your memory in a few days time. For now, Miss Rogue is my main concern."

* * *

So there Logan sat, not really relishing the notion of getting out of the lab to deal with questions that he had no answers for. Besides, Rogue's company had a calming effect on his thoughts.

"Whaddaya thinking?" she asked quietly.

Logan looked over at her, the unread book still in his lap. "Nothin, and everythin'… I suppose."

"Oh I geddit," she said amicably. He seriously doubted she did, until- "You're tryin' to figure who you really are, whether or not you really want to be in this sort of place, if you think you actually enjoy all these weird folks, etcetera, etcetera."

He cocked his head in consideration, giving her a slow smile. "Somethin' like that."

"Well lemme fill you in on something Mr. Wolverine," Rogue said matteroffactly as she sat up from her cot. She wobbled precariously on the bed, and Logan was on his feet in a second, steadying her shoulders with a concerned gaze. She barreled on as if she was giving him the facts of life. "You're a good guy. And you have some sort of complex that makes sure that no one else sees it."

Logan narrowed his eyes.

"_Biiggg_ complex," she drawled, spreading her arms wide for measurement.

"I was wondering more about you," he said plainly, hoping to startle her into shutting up.

It didn't work. "You wonder about me?_ Pfft!_" she waved her hand dismissively. "Sha, the Wolverine wonders about lil' Marie-"

He recognized the name; "Marie?"

The words seemed to instantly sober her. "Yes?"

"Suits you. You're a spitfire."

She blushed but beamed a bright smile at him.

Logan shifted so that he eased onto the bed next to her. "So, what else about me can you tell me?"

Her eyebrows raised, "Well… that's a pretty long story. How about something less general?"

"How about why I have this 'complex.'"

Suddenly Marie didn't look so playful. She raised her eyes to the ceiling in thought and bit her lip. "You've… you've had a lot of hard things happen to you. You've lost people you care about- well we all have… But you make a point to not let people get close to you, because you don't think you're much to care about."

Logan blinked.

"Bit silly really," she said with a soft laugh as she turned her face to him. "I know you the best out of everyone here, but that ain't much. A lot of them don't know you at all."

He studied her features, the strange feeling of being new and yet familiar washed over him. "I'm sorry about that Marie. The one time I wanna tell you, I don't have any reasons to give."

"A'hm not worried," she gave a tired shrug; the green cotton of her robe brushing his arms. "You'll tell me when you remember. That or I'll just bug you about it until you do and risk disembowelment."

Logan shook his head but said nothing to the contrary. "Let's get you back in bed."

Minutes later, he could hear Marie's shallow breathing, and the dim lights of the lab let him concentrate on his thoughts. His long frame extended from the chair he stole from McCoy's workstation, his arms crossed over his chest, keeping him from reaching out and brushing back the shiny strands of Marie's hair.

He didn't like the thought of this closed-off man that she had depicted him as. It was to her credit that she saw his character wasn't without reason. Such a little comment of knowing that people cared for him and the affect it had on him was enough to prove to that his old persona never considered it.

But Marie had. It was quite plain that she cared for him, enough to bother figuring him out. He wondered about their past relationship, and how such a short incident and such a small person could affect him. It was mindboggling, but he didn't marvel on it too long.

Instead he broke the stubborn grasp of his reasoning, and reached out to smooth back her hair and looked over her calm features that were deep in sleep. If he couldn't do this as his old self… then he wondered if he really wanted to remember.


	3. Handles and Starters

**For those of you that don't know, Bulleit is a delectable bourbon. Once again, this is a **_**collection **_**of shorts, none of them are related. A few readers seem to be confused about this. This a big fat chapter for you. Reviews appreciated!**

* * *

Marie stretched, glad for the sparse attendance of patrons. She wouldn't have to deal with ogling, and she could have a moment's peace before the real traffic of the night started up.

She could hear the guys reinforcing the joints of the cage in the next room. Mick's bar wasn't much more than a narrow passageway for the bar, it's sole purpose to direct drinkers to the venue. It was dark, smoke stained, and no one ever stayed long. No one would question her long gloves in the cold room. No one would reach over the wide counter for a feel.

It took a few different ways of looking at it, and time, but to Marie it was safe.

She felt her long hair touch the hem of her jeans as she stretched, her arms snaking up to the ceiling. Over the clanking and shuffling in the main room, the juke in the corner, she didn't even hear him enter.

Marie righted herself quickly, catching his form out of the corner of her eye. He was seated on the far end, already pulling off his coat, distinctively avoiding her gaze.

She thought a moment. He would've called for a beer, whether she had noticed him or not. He would have demanded a shot if he had intentionally caught her gaze. No, he was here for something else. Especially this early.

So she walked over and simply said, "Hello."

He flicked his gaze away from the entrance to the cage room, effectively taking in her form in less than a second. "I'm here to see Mick."

"Are you lookin' for an introduction?" as to which she only received a glower. Yeah, like she hadn't had to endure that every day for the last year. "Then you'd get in his good books just going in there and finding him yourself."

Marie stoically watched him study her more fully this time. It was a strange sort of look; the type that a predator usually held when sizing up an opponent. He then slowly stood, only nodding with a; "I'll have a whiskey" as he turned to head down the warped hallway.

She watched him leave, a little miffed. Still, she figured that she had somehow received a polite response, even for a man that looked like he could kick down a barn.

"Oi- Marie?" came the familiar call a few minutes later. She popped her head above the counter ledge, seeing her boss being flanked by Mr. Whiskey.

"Hiya, Mick," she said, the old conversation trade keeping her at ease. More patrons started filing in through the door. A waft of cold Canadian air came in and bit their cheeks.

"This here's Logan. He's ownin' me a favor tonight, so he's going to help out with barback until his match comes up. Sound good?"

It was a bit of a stretch to admit it, but Marie nodded. It would be good to have a second pair of hands, especially when they were as intimidating as his. She realized Logan was giving her a look of doubt underneath a raised eyebrow. It only lasted for a second.

"Righto. Splended," Mick clapped his hands together as he showed Logan around to the back of the bar, obviously leaving him to Marie's orders. "Marie, she'll take care of ya," Mick said congenially as he waved and headed back to the cage room.

The two stood staring at each other.

"That won't be necessary," he nearly growled at her amused expression.

"I figured as much," she countered, "You don't look helpless to me." Turning away to stroll down the bar, she got down to business pointing out stock and a few reserve bottles Mick kept for regulars. Marie was pleasantly surprised when she found he knew how to change a keg, as well as intimidating customers into tipping. She was thinking a good haul would be coming in for the night, especially when the money honeys stopped by.

"If you want your own drink, best buy it now and label it. Mick doesn't care for people taking pulls whenever they want. I'll be heading up this half of the bar, we can switch when you get done with your match."

She turned around from cleaning the taps, only to find Logan leaning over her. Her mind blinded in panic for a moment; she gasped and backed up against the register. But his eyes were elsewhere, suddenly flicking down in concern at her noise. She heard the grind of glass on wood above her, Logan stilling, then slowly backing away.

"I didn't think you wanted a handle of Bulleit in your hair," he said quietly.

It was later that she would look up and see the fat bottles that were precariously on the edge of the shelf. She could only swallow nervously now as he walked off down to his side of the bar, stowing his jacket and taking his first order of the night.

* * *

Someone had propped the side door open later in the night, and Marie was getting agitated at the flow of icy air.

The bar was packed in the muggy room, and occasionally her wet gloves were freezing to the bottles that she pulled out of the fridge. She sighed, pulling out another dry pair from her handbag.

"You should let me buy you a _leather_ pair, sugar!"

"Oi, Rogue, what's the holdup?"

"Me glass is getting' dry, Marie!"

They were good-natured catcalls and she smiled sweetly at them as she pulled her hair back in a loose braid, closing the fridge with her hip. She spotted Berry chatting up a potential customer, and called out to the barfly; "Raz, close that door for me will ya?"

Marie frowned as her call went unnoticed and she turned back to the crowd. It was twenty minutes since Logan had been in the cage, and she had to wonder if he was the reigning champion, or utter mincemeat by this point.

Apparently the latter, because the noise that followed him from the venue now entered the bar. Marie was taken aback by the wave of people pressing against the ledge, a few stray hands trying to paw at the lone taps. She slapped them away between pours. The room was bordering on capacity.

She was just about to call for Mick when two broad hands slapped on the countertop and Logan launched himself over and into the pit, complete with a chorus of wolf-whistles. Marie watched him out of the corner of her eye as he grabbed a fresh dishtowel and wiped down his arms. There wasn't a mark on him, except maybe some redness on his knuckles to indicate his cagefight. His shirt however, was torn in various places that made her look a little longer than she knew she should have.

"You look like you need a hand," he said as he approached, his voice dark and smooth over the wave of noise that issued from the group of spectators now calling out orders.

_Jesus_, she thought. Distracting herself, she rolled her eyes and shoved two handles of Bacardi into his arms. "What tipped you off?"

"You watchin' me," he replied easily.

Marie had been around enough men to know that the easiest route was not to be embarrassed when called out. She shrugged as she set up ten shots, pouring out the caramel-colored liquor. She winked at the customers for extra measure, twirling the bottle in her hand for show. Logan watched as she earned herself a generous tip in less than 10 seconds.

Deep down, she didn't feel very gratified at her little show in front of him. It was certainly not something she saw herself making a career from. But a year ago, for the life of a confused runaway, it was the perfect job. It taught her things that she wouldn't have learned about in the Mississippi suburbs. It was something she was good at, and that itself was comforting to her for whatever she decided to do in the future.

It was nearly a half hour since Logan had jumped behind the bar, and the crowd was still thick. Some of the previous competitors had gotten braver with the help of whiskey, and Marie began to hear catcalls aimed at Logan.

Peering through the crowd, she could make out the swollen and bruised faces of the defeated cage fighters. Even if she couldn't understand their slurred words over the roar of the room, the look on Logan's face told her he did.

She reached under the ledge of the bar, a button calling Mick for rare emergencies. She felt its reassuring buzz under her fingertips. There wasn't much she could do; making drinks nonstop, keeping an eye on Logan. She didn't want this to turn out bad, but the tension in his frame was now nearly hotwired.

Her mouth dropped when a drink flew through the air, Logan side-stepping it easily. Whiskey stained his shirt, and a few nervous laughs erupted from the far end of the bar.

She was already making her way when his arm snapped out, plucking a swollen face out of the crowd, across the bar, and inches from his snarling face. The hand at his side clenched, a set of sharp claws shooting out towards the floor.

Marie was running to his side, vaguely wondering whyingodsname she wasn't scared of this man. Her instinct was the only thing in control of her actions. She watched as she reached out, her satin hand curling around his arm, hiding the claws that would send the room into a panic.

"Logan, let him go." For once she could hear her voice in the bar.

He flinched, trying to snap out of his rigid anger. It seemed like minutes, but his frame lost its tension and Marie saw a hazel tint come back to his black eyes. She watched as he lowered the man, then promptly let him go, his shocked face disappearing to the floor.

She turned to see Mick finally come up from the cellars, her yell cutting through the muggy air. "Mick- _get this asshole outta here!"_ her head jerked to the gaggle of drunkards trying to help up their friend.

As Mick and Trev threw the group out, Marie glanced down below her hand, seeing the claws were now gone, his knuckles red as before. More catcalls came at them, more drink orders, more music from the jukebox. It never ended, no matter what happened. She suddenly felt weary, confused at her protectiveness towards him.

She sighed and looked back at Logan, finding his gaze close and searching her own.

What could she say? 'It's fine'? 'I understand'? 'Your secret's safe with me'? There was nothing she could say that wouldn't tip him off in a room full of suspicious drunks. So she didn't say anything and dropped her hand, turning back to the frosted rows of taps on her end of the bar.

* * *

The last of the rank beer smell was slipping out the side door as Trev mopped, and Mick sat on a stool at the bar, sharing a few shots with Logan. Marie was wiping down the last of the tables, her gaze constantly flicking to Logan's form as she cleaned. She heard Mick tell him a few bawdy stories, most were ones she had already heard. She stifled a yawn as she pulled on her thick coat and approached them for goodnights.

"Good pull tonight, M'rie," said Mick as he handed over a wad of cash he had split for them, the tips piled high.

She was on her third pair of gloves that night, the dark satin folding over the money. Marie gave him a tired smile, nodding in thanks. "See you on Wednesday?"

She didn't catch the falter in his smile as she headed out the door, or the wavering, "Have a good night, Marie."

"Nice to meet ya, Logan," she called over her shoulder, and headed out into the night.

She had wanted more time with the new acquaintance. The pull to learn more about Logan was strong, but she figured he would need a few days to pay off any debt to Mick, and she knew a man like that wouldn't pass up the chance at making more money in the fights. She was making all of these excuses, walking with her coat pulled tight when her heart jolted as she heard the crunch of feet jogging through the snow.

Marie turned to see Logan, coming up short as he pulled his leather coat closed. "Thought I could give you a ride."

"Ah, I'm only a few blocks away… thanks though."

She thought that would be the point where he insisted, maybe offered to buy her coffee, whatever it was that interested people did outside of the bar environment.

"Why do you work there?"

Marie frowned, surprised by such a blunt question. She could even hear the distain in his voice. "It's good money. Mick's a great boss…" the expression on his face asked for a reasonable explanation. She sighed, continuing; "About a year back I took off from home, I didn't have any money. I'd been travelling for a month or so when I ended up here. Mick just happened to be shorthanded. I've been saving up ever since."

Her eyes had wandered in her story and she looked back to only see that Logan's gaze had softened. He seemed closer as well. She felt strangely comforted, despite hardly knowing the man. It had been a few months before she had told her story to Mick.

Logan still held her gaze. "Why are you sticking around? Why not just leave?"

"I've thought about it, but that don't mean that I would just up and leave Mick."

"You could leave tonight." He said, matter of factly. "He knows you ain't comin' back."

Now she was completely confused. "What? Why would he think-"

"I owed Mick a favor. Workin' behind the bar wasn't it."

Marie crossed her arms, indignant. "So he couldn't fire me to my face, was that it?"

Logan glowered as if she had personally insulted him. "Use your head, he wanted you to move on," he then added calmly, "he could see you weren't happy. Personally, I think it's time you admitted it to yourself too. I offered to help you on your way."

She knew in her heart her old boss would never have done such an underhanded thing. "Where though?" she nearly whispered as she looked down the dark road.

Logan stepped in front of her gaze, "Anywhere you want."

Marie studied him for a moment, exotic destinations cropping up. "Anywhere?"

"Well, anywhere in the continental US," he amended, a hint of a grin coming out as he gestured to his truck parked forlornly next to the snow bank.

She stared at it for a long while, pondering the possibilities. "Why would you do that? Mick is the one you owe the favor to, not me."

Logan shrugged, "I didn't say it in there, but I didn't get to thank you. For what you did."

Marie didn't say anything, only watching him intently.

"I take it you're a mutant too," he continued, reaching down and pulling up one of her gloved hands. She only nodded, the contact warming her. "You don't look exactly helpless, but I thought it would be better if I travelled with you for awhile. Everybody wins."

She cocked her head. "Everybody? What about Mick?"

"Ah, he'll find some hot little tart soon enough."

Marie laughed and shook her head. His thumb was beginning to rub a comforting circle on her hand. "What do ya say?"

"Maine sounds good," she said around a coy smile.

Logan raised an eyebrow.

"For starters."


End file.
